Are You There, Flash Fiction? It's Me, Dean Winchester
by buryourburdens
Summary: A very small (but growing) collection of tiny, tiny one shots. And a few not quite as tiny one shots.
1. Chapter 1

**Headcanon for the end of season gr8. Characters belong to Kripke.**

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A Lynyrd Skynyrd cassette is playing from Dean's bedside table as he's curled up beneath his blankets, slowly fading away. Sam hasn't left his side. They're just existing in silence for whatever time they have left, not ruining the few remaining moments with words. Simple Man begins to play and Dean, for the first time in hours, opens his eyes. Just slightly, only a sliver of green. He reaches for his brother's hand and Sam accepts the offer immediately, holding Dean's in both of his own. Sam's eyes are dull, gray in his grief, and welling tears threaten to break his resolve. It was Sam's time to be strong, to keep himself composed.

"Don't turn this into a chick flick." Dean's voice is barely a whisper, cracking his words in half.

Sam forces a smile and shakes his head. "Jerk."


	2. Chapter 2

**Implied Dean/fem!Castiel. Characters belong to Kripke.**

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Sam and Dean sat at the corner table of some dive, scanning the bar over glasses of beer. A woman, her dark hair grazing the shoulders of an open tan pea coat, sat in their line of sight. Sam saw something familiar in her dark blue eyes, Dean in the curves beneath the coat.

The older Winchester smiled sheepishly, "If this is about last night, I can explain-"

The woman's face remained impassive. "You should have paid attention to the pizza man."


	3. Chapter 3

**Jamie requested an HP/SPN crossover in flash form. Dean belongs to Kripke, others to J. K. Rowling.**

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Neville stood poised with the sword of Gryffindor, waiting for his moment to strike. Until, of course, he was stricken first. Dean grabbed Neville by the collar, throwing him to the ground, before snatching the sword. Dean raised it to his shoulders, wielding the ancient weapon as a bat, and cut his way through the crowd until only Harry stood between himself and Voldemort.

"Move it, Boy Who Lived to Become a Douchebag, that bastard killed my mother."


	4. Set Sail

**Warning for semi-excessive profanity. Jamie wanted Dean and Sam as the captain and first mate of a ship. This is what she got instead.**

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Dean Winchester was many things, but he was no sailor. The small dinghy to Prentis Island was as large a boat as he'd been on, and with good reason. "Nothing good happens when you're not on solid ground, Sam. You get zapped into a damn airplane or a lake zombie eats you. No, screw all that. Baby and I will take the long way."

"You can't exactly drive to Australia, yanno. There's this little thing called the Pacific Ocean." Sam paused, long enough to take in Dean's sour frown and grin in response, "An ocean, Dean, is like a real big puddle, but big enough that you can't throw your jacket over it and hop across."

"I know what a fucking ocean is, bitch," Dean huffed while readjusting his jacket, shrugging his shoulders to get it to lay properly. "I just don't like them."

"You've been to Hell, you've been to Purgatory, and-"

"Neither of those places could drown me!" Dean's squinted his eyes, years of stress-begotten alcoholism and poorly handled anger causing them to wrinkle at the corners.

Sam raised his eyebrows and frowned, nearly sneered, "Drowning. After all this other shit, you're afraid of drowning?"

"Well, yeah. It's scary."

Sam couldn't tell what made him laugh harder, his older brother's absolutely pitiful tone of voice or the sad reality that Dean Winchester, savior of humanity, first man to cross through the three planes of the afterlife since Dante, was spooked by a little water.


	5. Hush Little Baby

**Lucifer/Eve are my new crack OTP. Sob. I love them.**

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With the baby finally asleep in his arms, the tears from her latest meltdown still dampening rosy red cheeks, Lucifer took a long, slow breath. She was a perfect little angel (he suppressed a laugh at the thought, not wanting to wake the child with the shaking of his chest) with pale blond hair and large watery eyes that crossed one another just so when she stared at whatever humored the minds of infants. With one hand securely against her back he reclined, reached for the blanket draped across the back of the hospital chair, and covered them both against the chill of oncoming night.

A soft whimper brought Lucifer from his nap and he glanced down at his daughter, her eyes wide and curious and looking at everything all at once. He brought her up further onto his chest, so the top of her head grazed the skin of his neck just above his collar, and gave her back a few gentle pats. She cooed in a dazed, sleepy manner and he smiled, wondering what thoughts were running through her mind.

Footsteps ahead of him caused Lucifer to glance up, the shift in his chest hardly registering with the child, and he met the vibrant green of his wife's eyes.

Eve smiled down at her budding family, tucking a long strand of chocolate brown hair behind an ear. "She's a daddy's girl, alright." Eve reached out and ran her palm across the platinum fluff of her daughter's hair.

Lucifer grinned, one corner of his lips raising to show pearly whites, "So you'll let me name her?"

Eve nodded and sat on the edge of her hospital bed. Her thin gown rose up to her knees and she quickly wrapped herself in a starched white blanket. Her eyes could find no focus, darting between the sleeping infant and her husband.

"Megan, I think. Yeah. Megan."


	6. The Bottom of this Bottle and You

**Feeling a little nostalgic for the days when Dean would do anything to save Sam.**

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There are a lot of decisions a man has to make in his life, but whether or not to bury his brother should never be one of them. But that yellow eyed son of a bitch, that sick twisted fuck... you just don't see it, Sammy. How could you? You've been laying in that bed, you haven't moved, since I carried you here. Bobby doesn't understand it, either. He keeps saying, "You'll have to handle this eventually, Dean. You can't wait around forever." But I won't wait around forever. I will handle this. You just have to wake up first. You just have to open your eyes and reach out your hand and say my name. Then, and only then, will I be okay.

I've been sitting beside you for hours, sipping whiskey straight from the bottle, waiting. My stomach went sour countless drinks ago, but whether it's from the alcohol or the faint scent of decay, I can't tell. All I know is that I can't leave this chair, I can't put this bottle down, until either you wake up or I join you wherever you've gone.

Bobby returns with a bucket of fried chicken and the smell makes me nauseous. You would never have eaten it, no matter how damn hungry you were. He says I need to eat, that it's been three days, but I can barely hold my liquor right now. How am I supposed to eat? I hardly hear what he says next, but he brings up Dad. He brings up the job. Doesn't he know that none of that matters anymore? You won't wake up, Sammy. You won't wake up and that's what matters. I get up, I leave your side, just long enough to stare him in the eyes as I'm screaming at him. When he finally leaves I'm right back in that chair, right back to letting Jack destroy my liver. If Dad had been here, he'd know what to do to fix this. We both know what he would have done, don't we, Sammy? He did it for me, and it's no secret that he always loved you best.

I don't want to leave, but I have to. There's something I have to do. But when I come back... when I come back, you'll wake up. You'll open your eyes and reach out your hand and say my name. And then I'll be okay.


End file.
